Old Futures
by Inthefire
Summary: He was only one in a lineage of shared love. Told with flashbacks.


**Note: Roger is reborn as Owen, and Alex is reborn as Thom. **

"Who's that, Papa? I've met him before, haven't I?" Owen, pointing to a picture in the book of Tortallan royalty he and his father were reading, asked.

Jesslaw stiffened. "That's Duke Roger of Conté. He was a traitor. He killed Queen Lianne. You never knew him."

"Oh," Owen murmured, and tilted his head downward, "But I'm sure I met him. I remember how dark his eyes were."

Fredrik shook his head. "You can't have met him Owen– he died before you were born." He scratched Owen's head and shut the book. "Time for bed, son," he said cheerfully, "We can talk more in the morning."

"I know I remember him," Owen muttered after his father had extinguished the lamp and closed the door.

_Vibrant blue eyes ripped into his consciousness, holding him prisoner. There was a sinister darkness looming in the depths, below any visible detection. He fought, trying to pull himself from the tides of power._

"Duke Roger of Conté," the voice introduced, and his head cleared enough to break away. "Care to come in my office? You must be the Tirragen boy. I haven't had a good look at you yet." The man grinned with humor, though the darkness in his eyes leered. "Let me look inside you," Roger commanded, and he could not help but comply.

"Grandfather! Grandpa Myles! Owen looked up from his book as two children burst into his knight-master's study. "You're not Grandpa Myles!," one of the children, a girl, accused.

Owen shook his head. "I'm his squire, Owen of Jesslaw."

"I'm Alan and this is Aly. We're–" The girl jabbed her twin with her elbow. "Where's Grandpa Myles?" she interrupted.

"He's out," Owen said. Appraising the children, he asked, "Do you have a nanny? Where is she?"

Aly chortled. "She's sick," she commented. "Mother's been watching us lately, because Uncle Jon hasn't sent her on any missions. But now Mother's talking with Uncle Jon and she left Thom to watch us, but he got lost in the palace."

"Who's Thom?" Owen asked.

Another boy burst into the room. "I'm, I'm Thom," he said, heaving.

Owen heard Aly whisper, "We didn't run fast enough."

Thom glared at them. "Mother'll roast me if I lose you. And you run plenty fast enough, but you can hardly keep your mouths shut. Noise travels far in the palace." He paused and bowed to Owen. "I'm Thom of Trebond, and I apologize for whatever havoc my siblings may have caused."

Owen smiled. "I'm Owen of Jesslaw, squire to Sir Myles of Olau."

"Where's Grandpa Myles?" Aly roared. Thom glared at her for silence. "He must be out," he told her. He looked at Owen for assurance, who nodded.

Aly opened her mouth to complain just as an older man entered the room. "Grandpa Myles," the twins shrieked and ran toward him. They smacked into him with a soft thud.

"Calm down, calm down," Myles said. He smiled. "I'm glad you came to see me," he told his grandchildren. " It's good to see you as well, Thom. I hope University life is treating you well," he added. Turning to Owen, Myles commented, "You could learn plenty from Thom. He's been studying all sorts of fascinating history that I would love to teach you but simply don't have the time. And I'm sure you'd get on well; you're both the same age and very smart young men who–"

"You barely even said hello to us, Grandpa Myles," Alan complained and tugged on Myles's tunic. Turning the twins, Myles said, "Ah yes, we can't forget about you for a moment, can we?"

_"Isn't Roger wonderful, Alex?" Jon asked his friend._

Delicately, he replied, "His Grace is extremely powerful."

Jon nodded. "He's also one of my favorite relatives."

"Is there someone you don't consider a favorite relative?" he prompted.

Jon chuckled and said, "You too must find him charming– everyone does."

He paused. "I haven't spent much time with him."

"You must do so," Jon suggested. "Everyone loves Roger. Everyone." Jon paused and turned to his friend. "And Alex, I hear he's looking for a squire. It's the perfect opportunity."

Owen perused the library as he searched for texts that would help him in the research Myles had assigned him. He pulled the second-largest book from the shelf, releasing a cloud of dust as he nearly dropped it. The book contained the history of Kind Roald's rule, from every battle to famine. He blew the remaining dust from the text before lifting the thick cover. Flipping through the book, Owen encountered hundreds of stuffy nobles pouting at the artist as he painted their stern faces. He turned another page.

The room seemed to cool as Owen's eyes locked on the noble before him. Goosebumps rolled from his neck to his fingertips. There was nothing particularly outstanding about this noble; he sneered from the page, dressed with elaborate jewels and from obvious wealth. Owen looked away, his eyes watering as flashes of darkness from another time assaulted him. His eyes skirted along the bottom of the page as he looked for a name.

Duke Roger of Conté. The name was familiar, scarily so, although Owen could not quite retrieve from the depths of his mind why.

_"Look into the light, Tirragen." Roger's voice was firm, unwavering._

"It hurts my eyes, sir," he protested, and regretted his words. Roger moved forward and grasped his shoulder painfully.

"You are my squire, and you will listen." Roger shoved the light pendant closer.  
He closed his eyes briefly before bringing his gaze to the pendant. A moan escaped his lips as his mind was torn open.

Owen hit the muddy ground, and through a haze he heard applause. He attempted to stand, but stumbled back towards the ground. He felt a hand pull him to his feet and shook his head. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"You've grown," a familiar voice said. Owen looked up and saw, through his dimmed vision, his friend Thom.

Owen leaned forward in an attempted bow, but teetered instead. "It's good to see you," he mumbled.

Thom chuckled. "You should go return to your knight master before you get us both killed. I only came over because he went to retrieve a new lance." Owen groaned. "Perhaps I'll see you at dinner," Thom offered, and hopped over the fence.

Owen stared after his friend for a moment, and shook his head once more. He removed his helmet as he waited for his head to clear before stumbling back to Happy, who was sniffing an oddly shaped stick in the field.

"Jesslaw!" Lord Wyldon of Cavall barked, causing his squire to drop his helmet as he tried to seem attentive. "You need to strike harder. Place all your weight behind the lance, and don't hesitate!" He paused, appraising his fumbling squire. "That lance looks as if it has a crack. Get a new one. We're going to go for another two rounds."

"Yes, sir," Owen said, and hurried off. He was both too tired and afraid to complain. After receiving a fresh lance from Stefan, who wised him luck, Owen returned and prepared for another round.

"Be impassive," Wyldon advised. "Don't be afraid to charge, and Mithros help me, do not pause because you think you will hurt your opponent. Now, into position."

_"You must show no mercy, Alexander. He is the enemy. Lash out with all your strength; you will have no sharp blade to help you." Roger extended his hand towards his squire._

He bowed and kissed his knight master's hand. "I will destroy him, your Grace."

Roger nodded. "Don't allude that this will be any more than a friendly practice match. He cannot know your intentions until it is too late." Halting, Roger smiled. "This will be good for us, squire. Someone so young hardly receives such excellent training."

On Thom's last day of vacation before he returned to the University, Owen invited him to play chess. Thom eagerly accepted.

"You're going to beat me," Owen said as they prepared the chessboard. "You always do."

Thom smiled at his friend. "You've been getting much better," he said. "You might surprise yourself." Owen shook his head and looked at his hands. "You go first," he mumbled.

The game was fairly short, with Owen quickly gaining most of Thom's pieces. "Ha," Thom said, leaning back in his chair, "I told you that you're a lot better."

"It was all luck," Owen protested. Thom reached out and grabbed Owen's upper arm. "You don't believe in yourself enough," he said. Owen opened his mouth, but Thom continued, "I'm serious. You're smart, you're brave, everyone likes you."

"What's there to like?" Owen's face was turned downwards.

"Owen, I..." A change in Thom's voice prompted Owen to look at him. "There's so many reasons why." Slowly, Thom watching Owen's eyes for any drop of disapproval leaned in and kissed Owen soundly on the mouth. Owen trembled slightly, but did not pull away.

_"Have any ladies been pursuing you, Alexander?" Roger asked, tapping his squire's arm._

"None beside the occasional looker," he responded. "No one worth my time."

Roger nodded solemnly. Cupping his squire's cheek in his hand, he murmured, "You will find people that are far more valuable." Roger pulled him closer, his breath hot on his face. Roger dipped in and brushed his lips against his squire's so quickly that Alex was unsure that it happened.

"And when you realize who they are, you will be lucky just to be with them once."

Under Lord Wyldon's orders this time, Owen revisited the book on King Roald's rule. He tried to skirt around the portrait of Duke Roger, but one heavy flip of the pages found him staring at the dreaded image. He slapped a hand over the Duke's eyes and exhaled deeply, oblivious that he had been holding his breath.

Warmth began to spread from his fingertips pressed against the image to his face. Owen yanked his hand from the page and slammed the book shut. He looked at his hands and noticed he was trembling. Careful not to touch any pages, Owen heaved the book onto the shelf once more.

"_So is the rumor true?" Gary asked with a grin._

"What rumor?" Alex said curtly.

Gary chuckled. "The one about Contès and their squires. Is it true?"

Embarrassment tickled at his cheeks, but he refused to submit. "Go ask Alan," he sneered. "I'm sure he can give you a better answer."

Owen felt a hand brush across his back, though when he turned to see who had passed there was no one. He returned his attention to his meal and friends, whom he had not seen in quite some time. He watched on with Merric as Kel and Neal began to argue over the various purposes of courting. (Neal's fervent cries of "For love!" were drowned in Kel's statements of "It's all for money and rank, Meathead.")

Silence spread through the tables like wildfire as each boy kicked his chatting neighbor. Near the front of the room, King Jonathan and his sour-faced Champion moved towards Wyldon. The pages and squires stood. "Lady Alanna's been gone from the palace for a long while," Neal commented. Owen, for fear of being punished, glared at him.

After a short word from the king, the squires were seated once more. Dinner was finished shortly after, and Owen, now exhausted, slipped from the grasp of his friends. As he was leaving the dining hall, a movement in the shadows of an extinguished lamp caught his attention. He paused and moved toward the figure.

"Thom," he asked hesitantly, "Is that you?" A boy, taller and leaner than Owen, stepped into the light of a lamp.

"I had hoped you'd find me," he murmured and moved closer yet. Owen stumbled backwards several steps.

"We– we," he stuttered, "Not now." Seeing Thom's face, he tried once more, "It's just that Wyldon– he's right there in the– I wish but–"

"I'm going to go for a brief walk in the gardens," Thom interrupted. "Would you care to come?"

_"Alexander?" Duke Roger entered his squire's rooms. "Where are you? I can find you magically if need be."_

He slid from beneath his desk. "Just looking for a pen, sir," he mumbled.

Roger chuckled. "Of course, my dear squire. Did last night mesmerize you? Are you afraid of the power I hold over you? The passion you feel for me?" Alex murmured an incoherent reply. "I'll see you in my bedroom tonight," the Duke said smugly.

The walk was far from brief. They lay there, entwined, for an eternity of bliss. It was raw passion and euphoria that Owen had only felt in his dreams. Entirely too soon, Owen found his way back to his rooms and knight-master.

That night Owen dreamed of completed circles, of two becoming one, of finding love over and over again.


End file.
